untitled 04.09.19

is there anything worse

than losing your arm

before really learning to use it

right before you pump the blood

to your fingertips

and break the space between them

squeezing time in your grip

i could hold you

I could

I could breathe you in and

let out a gasp so deep

it would rattle your bones

but what good is a gasp

in the likeness of a dying breath

what good is strength

in this weakened mess

I am the cherry blossoms

in the park we’ll never see

I am the summer

you will never know to be

– sheila c.

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